Humanity
by VengefulMothSlayer
Summary: The darkness is alway there, no matter where or who he is. (10 short songfics, mentions of stony)


** One short one-shot per song, you can finish the sentence but no more **

** You can edit afterwards, but this is strictly spelling**

** For the reawakening of the muse**

** Stony**

**"Humanity" **

Abesses, by Birdy Nam Nam (Beat Torrent Mix)

Steve kicked open the door, scanning it through the thick layer of smoke. There didn't seem to be anyone in there but for twisted and gleaming metal and grey-stained air.

His brightly coloured uniform felt thick and stifling as he quickly shut the door and ran further down the corridor to the next opening. He loved being a fire-fighter, really he did, but sometimes it seemed pointless. Especially when he couldn't find anyone to save.

As he opened the door, eyes met by more twisted swathes of metal glass and smoke, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He started, before spinning lightly around, to meet a pair of warm brown eyes.

Son of a Gun, by Oh Land (Jacob Plant Remix)

Steve slammed down the shot glass, feeling the fire of whiskey burn its way down his throat, remembering how his first glass as a teenager had almost brought tears to his eyes.

He was stronger now.

The memories waved at him, trying to get in, but he walled them out, walls of titanium and steel.

"Steve", they whispered. "I'd like that dance now", "What are you but a man?"

A mere mortal, he thought, requesting another drink.

The fire burned his throat, blurring with the he-had-no-idea-how-many he had had before. As he met the eyes of the dark-haired barman, there was a moment, just a brief moment when he thought he was understood.

There might have been someone in that gaze who knew what it was to be alone, to drink away their sorrows and regrets, to feel lost and alone in the cold and the dark, to feel like he was drowning with nobody to save him.

Then the moment ended and he was alone once more.

Another shot, an swirling darkness.

The next day, he would do it all again.

Toulhouse, by Nicky Romero

Steve sat there on his seat, clenching his fists against his inexplicable fear of flying.

There was something in him that hated it- he had no idea why, as he had no problem with heights or technology, or machinery of any kind. He was a mechanic, after all.

But there was always this nagging fear of flying-like he expected the plane to crash or something, which was stupid, but true all the same.

He glanced over to his side and tried to distract himself by talking to the guy beside him.

"Steve Rogers," he said, holding out his hand to shake.

The guy looked up briefly from his laptop, a flash of brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and Steve felt his stomach tighten.

"You fly often?" the guy said, quickly glancing away and typing something into his computer.

"Yes," Steve said. "Or at least it feels that way. I'm in planes far too much for my liking."

The guy's gaze fixed on him, something dark and burning in them. "Say, you're pretty good-looking," he said, saving a closing his work, and flipping down the lid of his laptop. "Ever heard of the mile high club?"

All I need, by Lovejet

Steve reached out with straining fingers, searching for warmth and skin in the cold, the freezing cold, terrified out of his mind, covered in glacial sweat. His chest heaved as he patted down the sheets, coming up with nothing, wracked with desperation, until the last strands of sleep were gone from his eyes and he lay back down, knowing there was nothing but emptiness, finally awake.

The other side of the bed was cold, and Tony wasn't there.

He never was.

He missed him so much.

It felt like forever since he'd held the snarky little guy in his arms, since he'd felt complete, since he hadn't woken up from every sleep feeling alone and needy and uncomforted.

In those few precious moments it had felt like Tony was all he had ever needed; but, of course, it was deeper than that. Tony felt like everything he'd ever needed and wanted, and everything else he's never thought to ask for. Cliché, but then Steve lived for those.

But this wasn't a cheesy romance movie, and no matter how long he waited or how hard he looked, Tony wasn't coming back.

Once he had come to this conclusion, like he had every night for 4 years, 3 months and 6 days, he pressed his face to the cold spot on the empty side of the bed and cried.

Little Ants, by Chromabox

Steve smashed his hand against the wall. He felt so helpless- like a puppet, like he was getting jerked along by the strings.

If he could have had a different life, he would have. But no-one seemed to believe him. Nobody seemed to believe that he would have had this any other way.

If he had seen another way out, he would have taken it, really, he would. But he could feel them watching him wherever he went, and he had to get out. _He had to get out_.

He hated it here, hated the plastic walls, hated the fearful eyes of the doctors that injected him with these needles, hated the feeling of the watchers and the waiters, hated that Tony wasn't there.

All he'd done was save him; why couldn't he save himself?

It wasn't supposed to be a permanent separation; why wasn't he allowed to leave?

They had to get out.

They had to get out.

He had to get out.

He had to see Tony again.

He began to rock back and forth, muttering to himself, alone in his cold, dark cell.

The cell of a murderer.

But he hadn't killed anyone.

Tony was free.

He wasn't.

He didn't understand.

Eternity Served Cold, by Cherubim (Homestuck)

Steve lay down in the red-stained grass, panting.

Tony lay next to him.

They looked at the stars.

"Do you ever think that maybe we're just puppets?" Steve asked his silent partner.

"I kinda want to get away from it all, even though I know I never can."

Tony didn't answer.

Steve flicked a flake of dried blood off his nose, idly scanning the constellations again. His uniform was soaked through with mud and blood and rain, but he waited for an answer, babbling on.

He was so sick of this, so sick of the endless war. If this was what Erskine had told him he'd be doing when he'd offered him the Cup, then he would never have drunk from it. If he'd known that he would spend eternity fighting, drowning in bloodstained grass, then he would ever have taken it.

He forgot what he was fighting for most of the time; just took comfort in the fact that he was fighting for the side of Good, the side of Light. There were other people, smarter and more suited to big decisions than he was, who took care of such things. All he had to do was fight their battles and command their soldiers, kill their enemies and wait for the end he knew would never come. This was Eternity, after all.

The demons, with their shadowy black-red-gold armour, had long since begun to blur together.

He had killed so many people he couldn't name, he wanted to die himself, but he was trapped, trapped here for eternity. This was what he'd signed up for, but not what he'd wanted. He signed up to fight for a good cause, but h had not wanted to slaughter nameless millions in a never-ending war.

He lay there and waited for the demon at his side to reform out of the darkness, so that he could look into those dark, dark eyes again and know that he was loved by someone, even just a little bit, even by someone with no heart. There would be someone who cared if he died.

He heard the chink of the armour as it reformed, the swirl of the shadows stopping Tony's wounds.

Tony smirked. Dried blood crackled.

"Get away from it all? And lose the gift of my company? No way."

Steve stole a kiss from searing, bloodstained lips, an drew his sabre.

"Let us begin again."

Genesis, by Justice

Steve waited out the last of the old man's struggles before disengaging the garrotte and folding it in his pocket. He carefully and methodically drew out his dagger, unwrapping it from the plastic wrapping.

He pressed the lifted fingerprints on it and drew back a gloved hand before bringing down the dagger and slitting the throat of the unconscious body before him in one smooth, savage movement.

He dropped the blade on the carpet flor and carefully extricate himself from the car, dusting himself off and adding a few red herring hairs for good measure.

He left the carpark, the blood already beginning to congeal on the upholstery of the smooth, shining Audi.

Hack, stab, hack.

Bullet after bullet. Knife after knife.

Wound, maim, kill.

This was not what Steve had wanted. It went against every one of his morals. He hated killing, he hated hurting people.

But in a sick, twisted and perverse way, he also kind of liked it.

After all, these people were bad people. That's what Tony said.

So killing was actually not so bad. After all, there were people out there who did it so much messier than him, he was probably doing these people a favour. After all, they deserved much worse after all they'd done.

Once he was out of the reach of the streetlights and he'd changed out of his bloodstained coat, Tony would give him the next order, and he knew that he'd carry it out. After all, he loved Tony. He was loyal to him, and him alone.

There was little on earth Steve would kill for. Tony was pretty much it.

Hero, by Skillet

Steve stood on the edge of the ruins, looking over the precipice and to the drop below.

He wondered, idly, what it would feel like to fall off.

He glanced to his side, to where Tony was fighting, his distinctive gold-and-red armour stained with green ichor. His teeth were bared and his eyes wild behind his visor.

Steve turned around, catching his shield and kicking another monster over the edge. Its low howl of terror rolled over the panes, reverberating through Steve's spine. He shivered.

He threw his shield.

He caught it, and threw it again, surrounded by the sounds of exoskeletons cracking and monsters screaming.

But it needed to be done.

His hands were stained green for the good of the people.

Human, by Ellie Goulding

Steve crouched on the edge of Tony's bed, watching with fascination as he drew up designs for yet another weapon.

A 16-year-old should not have had this gift for building machines of war, but Tony did. Came with being the son of a genius who was in the business, Steve supposed.

In any case, it was his job to watch over tony and steal hi plans. There were powers higher than humans knew of or suspected, and they needed ingenuity. Ingenuity was a quality not particularly common among immortals, so angels were sent down to spy on mortals and steal their plans.

Steve was so sick of it.

Tony was beautiful, in his human way. Steve's incorporeal and supposedly "perfect" form couldn't compare to the complexity and sheer brilliance of the human form, at least, in his opinion.

But Tony probably had no idea at all that eh best weapon and the most beautiful design was he himself. He was far too immersed in gears and bolts for that.

He had no idea how much the sight of those hands filled Steve with hopeless longing- from his toes to his wingtips he was made of wanting.

He would have given anything, to be able to touch, taste, have that velvety network of veins pumping under parchment skin on his own hands, to have complexities and faults and needs.

But he was made of crystal and smoke and wanting.

Steve watched, and waited.

Kids Don't stand a chance, Vampire Weekend vs. Miike Snow

Steve bent over the piano, feeling the rising crescendo build in him, climbing through his rams to is fingers all the way from hi heart. It felt like he was playing out his deepest fears, his night terrors and all his hatred when he played like this. Which was good. It was his only joy.

His skinny fingers slid easily over the polished ivory of the keys and his brow furrowed with the intensity and the insurmountable barrier of the music widened, cutting his further from the world.

Nobody understood how much this meant to him. They all said, "He's such a talented boy! Such beautiful music! Such soul!" but they had no idea how the meter and the notes and the beat spoke to him, like he was made of music for these few moments, not flesh, like he was more than his tiny body and his awkward manner, like he was written in the stars. The notes moved around him in the air and he breathed them in and out, they were all he saw, they were all he needed. No food or water, just the music. It felt like he could stay here forever in those few moments.

Maybe this was what it was like to be in love.

He played out the last few notes, and felt the euphoria leave him, before meeting a pair of chocolate brown eyes.

In the darkness and the moonlight they looked coal-black and soft.

Like Tony knew.

** If you don't understand what a certain AU was all about, please PM me, and I'll see what I can do! But I'd prefer you interpreted how you want to **

** Go ahead and look up all these songs on Youtube or wherever, they're awesome **

** Read and review! **


End file.
